The Better Half of Margalo
by Unique Reflection
Summary: For many years, a small colony had been forced to submit to BloodClan's clever tricks. It was not a life they were proud of, but they survived. That is, until a young queen made them the subject of BloodClan's wrath and lost the best part of herself.
1. A Squirrel Hunt

Chapter One:

How strange it was. The sun had risen and the sky had been as red as blood, yet, as the day went by, there was no sign of rain. The sky was as clear is it could be, and the weather was exceptionally warm. Winter had, to the great luck of all the cats in Twolegplace, released its death grip.

For a great many seasons, the a small colony of cats had sat in wait. They had been trapped in a vicious cycle for as long as some had lived. BloodClan supplied them with food, but, as payment, took bits and pieces of their land. The more land that was taken as payment, the less food the little group could supply for themselves. Therefore, they had to take more food from BloodClan and loose more hunting territory. Soon, they would be completely reliant on BloodClan. One critical questions plagued the cats: "What do we do when the land is all gone?"

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A beam of shadow cast from a tall but scrubby-looking oak snuck its way through a dusty window pane and settled on a she-cat. A queen, to be more precise. A queen called Margalo with long fur the color of sand and white socks on her paws. Beside her, two kits were nestled; a she-cat and a tom. The tom favored her greatly, right down to the white stockings that rose halfway up his legs. The she-cat, a brown tabby, favored the other side of the family.

The queen rose, trotting out of her shadowy den to lie on the widow seal where it was warmer. As she rocked back on her haunches and prepared for the leap, a voice cheerfully called out, "Margalo! Margalo! Look what I have!"

Margalo, at first, ignored the calling of her friend, a very lanky brown tabby she-cat with large, owl-like eyes. "Look at this squirrel! Doesn't it look tasty?" the she-cat continued. The queen finally turned, her eyes locking themselves on the squirrel that hung from the tabby's mouth.

"Harper, where did you find that?"

"The park. I got up really early to go and catch it. That's the only time you see squirrels on our territory nowadays."

The cat called Harper licked the blood from around the squirrel's neck. Margalo was becoming increasingly flustered.

"Yeah. I've seen them over there. Caught a few myself a while back," the queen answered, annoyance evident in her voice. Harper seemed completely unaware and continued to lick the squirrel. Margalo turned her back to the tabby and continued. "Speaking of hunting, I was just about to head to the park. Watch my kits?"

"Sure," answered Harper. Margalo nodded and thanked her friend in a tone of manufactured gratitude. She hadn't been out of the upstairs of the old house since her kits were born, and she was downright incensed that Harper would both catch a squirrel four times larger then any Margalo had ever seen AND not share it. It would be easy enough to show up the little brown tabby; all the queen would have to do is head to her "secret" hunting spot.

She picked her way down the old, creaking set of stairs that led to the first floor. This floor was much like the one which she had come from. Small, dusty, and full of trash -- mainly old newspapers. Just what you would expect from a place that had been doomed to the wrecking ball for years, but was not thought of as enough of a problem to destroy quite yet.

Sitting on one of the two old recliners was a willowy, pale gray she-cat with bright orange eyes like a harvest moon. She turned her head slowly, gracefully, and said in a calm voice, "Where are you going? Anyone watching your kits?"

"Of course, Fleur. Harper's taking care of them," replied Margalo. She spoke to Fleur with a great deal more respect than she did with Harper. Likely on account that this bright-eyed gray cat was the "leader's" mate and was held quite highly as a medicine cat and politician. Many times had the little colony been saved from BloodClan by Fleur's quick thinking.

"Alright. But --I ask again-- where are you heading to?"

"I'm going hunting," said Margalo. The gray she-cat nodded.

"Ok, but please don't go too far or strain yourself. You need to recover slowly from having kits."

"I'm fine," she assured Fleur. After a moment, Fleur nodded.

"Be careful."

Margalo jumped onto the window sill and squeezed through a hole in the glass. It feels like forever since I've been able to do that, the queen thought happily. She landed softly in the yard of old house.

Once at the sidewalk, she pushed herself into a brisk trot. The outside world was a welcomed sight; she had been locked up in her den for who know how many days. The only exercise she had gotten was occasionally pacing around the room or walking up and down the stairs.

She stopped dead as she passed an alley, drawing out her claws in case of BloodClan. But no; it was merely a mouse scuttling about. What luck! Margalo thought victoriously. Not even bothering to set herself up in a hunter's crouch, she shot off into the alley. She even allowed the mouse to run a bit for her own enjoyment before cleanly killing it.

It was a winter mouse; small and lanky with barely any meat. It had likely come out, desperate for food, because of the sudden warm spell. Margalo decided to eat it once she had arrived at her "secret spot."

Her personal hunting ground was definitely not a secret among any of the cats of Twolegplace, or to her extended family. (They moved from their current camp to the place every Green Leaf.) It was a small stucco house with only four rooms. With no one to care of it, the yard was overgrown with English ivy and the numerous oaks had taken over the small yard. Scores of windows, most of which had been broken, lined the walls. This made the house light-feeling and airy. Perfect for hot summer days.

The house loomed into view, the oaks silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Margalo paused when she got to the chain link fence. Something felt a bit off. Placing her mouse on the ground, she scented the air. A smell not unlike that of a musky weasel crept into her nose. BloodClan. It was strong; so strong that the source had to be very near.

I must not have smelled the boarder mark with that mouse in my mouth! thought Margalo. But what are they doing here? This is my family's territory!

Her thoughts were cut short when quiet pawsteps came from a thick bed of ivy. Whipping her head to the side, she saw the source of both the sound and the smell. It was a small cat no more than eight months old. His silver tabby fur was dull and his body was covered in numerous scars. To Margalo's relief, he didn't wear a collar studded with bones nor were his claws reinforced with the teeth of dogs.

His expression was rather hard to read; he didn't look angry, but not happy either. Actually, he had the visage of a grumpy teenager. The queen stood her ground, for she didn't fear kits.

"What are you doing here?" she started, barely hiding her anger and annoyance. "In case you didn't know, his isn't your Clan's territory. This is my family's land. It always has been and always will be my family's land."

The silver cat's brow furrowed.

"No," he answered, his tone of aggravation mirroring Margalo's. "BloodClan has claimed this. It's thei-- our's now. Leave." The queen snarled.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll run you off if I have to," Her hackle fur rose threateningly.

The silver cat's eyes flashed left and right, as if unsure what to do. It seemed that, up to now, mere threats usually scared off his enemies and he had never had to go much further. Seconds passed and neither cat moved.

"I don't like to hurt kits, so I'll give you the first move. That, or you could just run." Margalo's confidence was strengthening. BloodClan or not, this cat was but an apprentice. He was new; he could barely stand up to the vicious look in the queen's eyes, never the less fight a cat three times his age.

Suddenly, more paw steps broke the ominous silence. Margalo whipped her head to the side again, but this time, she didn't see a grumpy kit. No, it was a full grown BloodClan warrior. A huge gray tom with icy blue eyes.

"Son," he said to the silver tabby. "Haven't I taught you anything? Never let lower cats disrespect you." He sneered at Margalo. Now she was afraid; this cat could kill her if he wanted to! "Attack. Run her out. Bone will be pleased."

The little silver cat drew a breath. Margalo sensed that he didn't want to fight. "Go. Now," the gray tom ushered. The silver tabby seemed to mutter something under his breath before taking a half hearted leap at Margalo. Panicked, Margalo countered with all her strength, forgetting he was just a kit. She felt her claws drag through flesh and heard a yowl. She didn't wait to see where he had been hit; she ran full tilt back towards her home.

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**I hope you enjoyed it! This is my first time writing, so please critique! :)**


	2. BloodClan's Wrath

**Update: Went back and re-wrote this.**

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Chapter Two:

Margalo ran and didn't look back. Behind her, a yowl sounded sharply. It was followed by a deep hiss, which Margalo assumed came from the silver tabby's father. Margalo picked up speed. Her muscles strained and her rapid breathing couldn't keep up with her hammering heart.

Home loomed before her; the familiar old house with the small, weed infested yard and the trellis of dying roses arching over the front door. Her eyes darted at first to the upstairs, where a single window stared down at her like an owl's eye. The upstairs room looked like a small wooden bird's nest balanced precariously on the top of a flat black mountain. Harper had her paws braced against the dirty pane and was mouthing something.

Margalo tore across the yard. She launched herself through a jagged hole in the downstairs' window and landed on the floor, yowling as a sudden sharp pain shot through her body. Her back was on fire, but she managed to crane her head towards to window. A streak of blood led from the window to where she currently lay. No BloodClan warrior.

Fleur had been laying quietly in her nest in the kitchen when she heard Margalo's cry. She leapt up and was at the queen's side in an instant.

"Margalo! What happened!?" Fleur demanded. The she-cat yelled for additional help. This did nothing to ease Margalo's fears.

"My back!" The queen swore loudly. An audible gasp came from one of the back rooms. Cats rushed out.

Fleur turned to the growing crowd. "Back to the nesting room! Go!" They listened immediately. Fleur turned back to Margalo.

"You're okay…You're okay…" she assured the queen in an almost motherly voice. She pushed back some of Margalo's thick, sand colored hair to examine the wound. Margalo screeched. "You're fine…You're fine…" continued Fleur quietly.

Harper, who had been hiding herself in the stairwell, finally spoke. "Margalo, what happened! Fleur, is she… Wh-what hurt her!" Fleur hissed at the little tabby. Harper took a few steps back, but didn't follow the other cats back to the nesting room.

Fleur brought out a few bundles of herbs and chewed them into a salve. She coated the wound thickly. "Get up now. Cobwebs won't do it a thing of good. We better keep it opened to the air until it heals or BloodClan brings us some marigold."

Margalo rose, sobbing from pain and fear. She looked back at the window and realized that a BloodClan warrior wasn't responsible for her injury. She had leapt at the window and, while darting through the broken pane like a cat possessed, grated her back against a shard of glass. Apparently it was quite deep, for Fleur seemed concerned.

Margalo was led back upstairs, given some poppy seeds, and proceeded to tell Fleur what had happened.

The storm the morning had promised finally rolled in, bringing with it clouds black and leaden with rain. The wind swirled furiously through the oak's branches and carelessly tossed around a tattered flag that stood in the front yard. Thunder roared in the distance like a hungry animal, but the lighting had not yet made an appearance.

The oak's branches creaked and swayed, threatening to give way to the ever strengthening wind. A branch snapped and crashed to the ground with a thud. Margalo regained consciousness slowly. She heard the noises, but they didn't register as a storm for a moment. The crack of the branch was the breaking of a bone and the thunder approaching was BloodClan warriors. A yell sounded from downstairs, calling her name. Margalo jumped to her feet.

Her kits mewed incessantly as the queen listened. Something was out there…Something other than the storm… Something that made her whiskers stand on end and her hackle fur bristle. Her instincts called wildly: "Danger! Danger! Run and hide! Save yourself!" But from what?

Another snap. More thunder. A new sound.

Was it… More voices?

A smell. Fear scent?

It wasn't just her. Everyone sensed something.

The queen looked at her wound. She couldn't see how severe it was, for it was obscured by a thick, slimy green layer of poultice. She walked laboriously towards the stairwell, and was, for a moment, tempted to yell at Harper to come up and care for her kits. Something told her yelling wouldn't be a wise idea.

She padded quietly down the stairs, and the voices grew louder. They were tense, rushed whispers. Colony members were gathered in the corner of the common room. Musky fear scent clogged Margalo's nostrils.

She stood next to her friends and listened.

"Now?"

"When?"

"What's happening?"

"We need to leave! Now!"

"Why? What made them so mad in the first place!"

"Fleur has some explaining to do!"

Everyone's conversations bended together and only snippets could be interpreted.

Harper was sitting quietly in the corner. She was hiding the fear in her expression, for a few apprentice aged cats were sitting close to her. One, Katie, seemed more concerned than the rest. The little calico buried her head in Harper's fur. Harper licked her reassuringly.

"It's all right, little one." The lanky little she-cat sounded so confident. Others clustered around her. Margalo was filled with envy, though she didn't know why. She had always though of herself as Harper's superior. Sure, the cat was her friend, but that didn't change the fact that Margalo was prettier, cleverer, and a better hunter.

Then why isn't everyone crowded around me? Margalo asked herself.

Koda broke her thoughts.

"Look alive. I hear them."

Margalo unsheathed her claws.

At first, she judged the sound to merely be another burst of thunder. It grew in volume, and soon the war woops of cats could be clearly heard. Their scent filled her noise, mingling sickenly with the already present odor of fear. Margalo stepped back, trying to disappear into the wall.

Suddenly, cats swarmed in through the window like locusts. Glass shattered. Yowls broke out from both parties, one in fear and the other in anticipation.

BloodClan warriors looked exactly like other alley cats. Rough and scarred, usually thin. Most had hard, stony eyes and ungroomed fur of every shade and pattern. There was something about them, however, that even strangers feared. A cloud of something akin to evil surrounded them. You could feel the aggression crawling on your skin, the desperation. These cats were looking for a fight. Always looking for a fight. Loyalty didn't stand; the only thing that united them was a common interest in violence and power.

The colony was paralyzed in fear, Koda and Fleur especially so. Koda called for his cats to be quiet and stand still -- not that they weren't, for the most part, doing that already. The colony had learned the procedure: when BloodClan came, silence was a must. You lined up near the wall. They gave food and medical supplies and went over the boundaries, which seemed to change and become smaller each visit. They would then leave, and life would go back to normal. Few talked about BloodClan's 'charity runs' afterwards. They tried their best to forget about their dependence.

BloodClan roamed among them for a moment, looking the colony cats over carefully. Then, at the wave of their commander's tail, came together in the middle of the common room.

Their usual commander was gone. He was replaced by an immense gray tom with dog's teeth reinforcing his claws. He wore the trademark look of BloodClan cruelty and seemed strangely interested in Margalo. His eyes, pale blue and sharp as glass, locked with hers. Margalo suddenly felt as if she had leapt at a windowsill and missed, but, instead of hitting the ground, continued to fall forever. It was the same cat whom she'd seen earlier than day when she'd argued with him and his son over her colony's possession of the summer house.

"Scout spoke to you earlier," the gray tom remarked to Fleur. "You know what happened and you know what we demand. We're here as promised. Not a minute late, may I add."

Koda looked at Fleur in surprise, and Margalo realized that Fleur hadn't informed her mate. Apparently, Koda didn't know that one of his cats had a run in with a BloodClan officer and his son, nor did he seem to know many details regarding her meeting with the BloodClan messenger called Scout. All he seemed aware of was that there would be trouble. What kind of trouble and where it came from were unknown.

"Scout said exactly this: 'Your colony has angered BloodClan. The band will arrive at their standard time. You will be speaking to Haze.' He didn't know the rest of the story, and I haven't spoken to any other BloodClan cats to fill me in." Fleur finished with a slight sneer. The gray cat, called Haze, drew his lips back in a hiss.

"So you aren't award of what BloodClan has lost the needs replacing? Hard to believe, coming from a she-cat who thinks she can count the stars in the sky."

Haze turned to his warriors, who were smacking their lips and flexing their claws eagerly. "Milo," he said. A small silver tabby, about the age of an apprentice, pulled away from the crowd. Fleur gasped.

On the left side, where there was once a pale blue eye, there was nothing put an angry, distorted red orb like a crushed, overripe strawberry. A huge gash extended from his forehead, across the eye, and ended near his jawbone. A single thought flash through Margalo's mind: I did that.

He stood quietly while the colony cats stared shamelessly. A young cat even dared to whisper to her friend. Koda looked at Fleur, expecting her to say something, but she was at a loss for words. Haze glared at her with bared teeth.

"He's a cripple now. He's useless. Worthless."

The silver tabby called Milo cringed at the insult, as did Margalo. How could a parent be so cruel? Thinking it is one thing, but saying something like that aloud to your son's face? Margalo couldn't fathom.

Haze suddenly spun violently around . He yelled to his warriors, who obeyed in an instant. They herded the colony cats into a corner, spiting and hissing. Margalo was crushed between Harper and Koda for a moment, but was suddenly pulled away. She glanced up at the cat and saw it was none other than Haze. She screamed and fought in desperation as he dragged her away.

Harper's scream could be heard above all. "Margalo! Margalo!"

Haze dropped Margalo and held her to the ground, his paw across her throat. Margalo felt herself choking. His claws were like thorns on her neck. He leaned down and almost whispered in her ear,

"It's time for payback." Margalo closed her eyes. She wished she could have reached some kind of epiphany since she was sure she was about to die, but the only thing that came to her mind was to struggle and scream.

Activity continued around her. BloodClan warriors raced upstairs and back down. Koda yowled something. Harper sobbed madly. Margalo could see Fleur standing a few feet away, a look of miserable helplessness written across her face. Then, everything suddenly stopped.

She felt Haze's heavy paw lift from her throat. She gasped for air. She heard more glass breaking and more voices. She saw blurry shapes depart through the window. As quiet returned to the common room, she felt herself drift away. The last thing she heard before falling unconscious was Harper's screech.

"Your kit is gone!"

Payment for her sins. A warrior for a warrior.


	3. End's Beginning?

Chapter Three:

Three days passed, but it felt like seasons. Apprentice-age cats cried to their elders about the shortage of food. The elder cats shushed them, for they lacked an answer. Scouts --Luna, Jasper, Gabby, and Hudson, among others-- were sent out, but returned without so much as a mouse. They also brought additional bad news: BloodClan had claimed all land beyond the corner of the lot the colony's home sat on. Even going out to feel the sunshine on one's fur was a great risk.

Their only source of food and water came from within the confines of their home. Thin gray mice hid within the walls, and more were bound to return once the peculiar warm spell was over. The colony prayed for snow. Water dribbled in through the faulty roof and formed a few shallow, dirty puddles. But they wouldn't last forever.

How could much misfortune result from getting on the bad side of one BloodClan official? For maiming one already weak warrior? Koda and Fleur knew. BloodClan had been looking for an excuse to get rid of them for a long time. The colony was no longer of benefit to the Clan, but they were much too busy with their new 'partnership' with a group of obscure cats known as ShadowClan to worry too much. Now, BloodClan was going to draw out the colony's miserable end. For their own enjoyment, of course.

Margalo had pondered all this. On the first day, she knew it was her fault. On the second day, she suspected it was her fault. On the third day, she had abandon the thought of being responsible for her colony's slow demise altogether. Guilt still bit at her like a flea. All the scratching in the world wouldn't alleviate the annoying, continuous itching.

This wasn't the prime reason for the queen's guilt, however. What was far worse was something she couldn't explain away, even in her own mind: The feeling of relief at loosing her kit.

Margalo feared she would wander the Dark Forest forever for merely feeling the weight of motherhood lifting away. One less kit…One less mouth to feed… One less kit to watch and care for…One less…

Her lack of guilt towards losing her son added to her current guilt load. Margalo was more miserable than ever.

"How's the baby?" An older white she-cat emerged from the stair well.

"Hey, Luna," Margalo said. The queen was sitting a few paces from her nest. Outside, the wind hissed. Sunning in the window was out of the question. "She's okay."

Luna didn't take Margalo's word for it. Instead, she walked over a touch the kit gently with her paw. The kit mewed. Luna kneeled down and allowed the kit to curl up next to her.

"She looks like an Amber," said Luna matter-of-factly. "You need to name her soon. Her eyes will open any day now."

"Yeah," replied Margalo.

Luna looked at the queen with the same sizing up glare Haze had used on Koda three days earlier. It was not sizing up for battle though. The look was different, as if she were trying to put a deeper meaning to Margalo's single word statement.

Luna stood up, lapped some water from a pool that had formed on the other side of the room, and trotted back downstairs.

Margalo avoided Luna for the rest of the day. Luna did the same. The two she-cats remained on opposite sides of the room and regarded each other as if they were fighting, though Margalo wasn't sure what they were exactly fighting over.

Margalo stared, dreamy eyed, at the window as Jasper, a black furred, dark eyed little tom and Koda's younger brother, swept away scattered glass from the floor below. He muttered quietly to himself. Margalo pricked her eyes and tried to catch what he was saying. He pushed the glass beneath an old, low to the ground coffee table and sorted it into a pile. He examined each piece, placing them into two piles accordingly. Margalo noticed one pile was made up of small, rounded pieces, while the other of sharp, angular shards like knifes.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Sorting glass," he replied, as if carefully categorizing glass based on how unfriendly it appeared was a normal thing. Margalo didn't bother to ask why. She looked at him with one brow raised.

"We'll need it," he assured her. It took a moment, but finally Margalo understood.

"For BloodClan?" asked Margalo, surprised. Jasper nodded.

"I don't know how we'll use it, but I know we'll need it. We need all the weapons we can. We aren't at an advantage here."

"We can't possible even consider fighting them!" Margalo exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "We aren't, are we?"

"Koda says we will. Fleur doesn't want to, but even she says we have to."

"Why? Why fight?"

"Why not?"

Margalo thought on this. Why not?

Because we won't win, that's why, spoke her subconscious.

Margalo turned to Fleur. The gray she-cat looked haggard and warn. Her eyes, formerly bright and clear, were stormy. Upon closer inspection, everyone was showing similar signs.

Jasper cast away a large, roundish piece of glass from his collection. It skidded a few inches and stopped close to Margalo's feet. Like a mirror, it caught her eye's reflection. She looked different than the others; younger, stronger, more relaxed. She was scared too, but yet she didn't look as warn as the other colony cats.

Because you're only worried about yourself, her conscious whispered again. They have many more cats whose fate to ponder on.

Margalo shook her head, as if to get water out of her ears.

As the afternoon sun disappeared behind the buildings, Margalo returned to her nest. Harper had been watching her kits, but the queen sent her friend away without a word of thanks.

Margalo turned a few circles, but couldn't settled down. Her kit mewed and crawled around, seemingly not aware it was time to sleep.

"Sleep, kit!" she growled. Familiar guilt trickled back.

"Sleep, Amber!"

That made her feel only slightly better.

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**Review please! :D How did you like it? What needs inprovement? I've thought through the plot more, changed some stuff, and have given the fic a new name that fits more with the plot changes I've made.**

**UPDATE: I went back and re-wrote chapter two.**


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